


Mal's Theme

by Rod13369



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: Family, Gen, Growing Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9458060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rod13369/pseuds/Rod13369
Summary: Mal's story, framed by the show's theme song.





	1. First Verse

**Author's Note:**

> Just what it says on the label. Originally published on Fanfiction.net on 31/12/10. This version has been edited into three chapters, as opposed to the original 15.

_Take my love_

Malcolm Reynolds, eight years of age, sits in his favorite tree, looking up at the stars. _Someday_ , he promises himself. _Someday, I’m gonna fly to every world out there, and ain’t nothing in the ‘verse gonna stop me._

“Mal?” His ma’s voice pulls him back to reality. For the first time in several minutes, at least, he is conscious of the tears running down his cheeks. “Mal?” his mother’s voice calls again. Mal knows from experience that she won’t stop calling just ‘cause he doesn’t show, but he can’t help it: he stays put. _If I don’t talk to her, maybe this’ll all go away. I’ll wake up safe and sound, and Pa will—_ but the thought of his pa only brings fresh pain and a renewed wave of tears.

A creak from the branch below his signals the arrival of his ma. “It’s polite,” she notes as her face comes up level with his, “to respond when someone is calling you.”

“Sorry, Ma.” Mal tries to say more, but the tears overwhelmed him again and he turns away.

His ma sighs and climbs up onto the branch beside him. Leaning against the trunk, she pulls him against her and holds him as he cries. “It’ll be okay,” she tells him, “it’ll be okay.”

Malcolm Reynolds, eight years of age, has just lost his father to disease. The elder Reynolds is not the only one to succumb; nearly one-third of the tiny moon’s population of 5000 dies while almost as many are impaired in some way.

Years later, as a member of the Browncoats, Mal learns that the illness was caused by improper disposal of the waste of the terraforming machinery the Alliance used to make the moon habitable.

* * *

 

_Take my land_

Malcolm Reynolds, age seventeen, is eating dinner with the ranch hands in the kitchen when the bell rings. “Mal,” his mother says from the stove where she is busy with the next course, “please go see who that is.”

Mal makes his way to the door and opens it just as the person out front rings the bell again. “Mr. Parker,” he greets the short, bespectacled man on the porch. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” Then he sees the uniformed Alliance officer standing next to the banker.

“Ah, Malcolm,” Parker greets him, sounding nervous. “Is your mother at home?” Mal nods, his spine stiffening. “May we speak with her?”

“Certainly,” Mal finally agrees. “C’mon in.” He directs them to the front sitting room and quickly retrieves Ma from the kitchen. He insists on staying with her, even though she tries to confine him to the kitchen.

Mr. Parker, whom the Reynolds have known for two decades, explains that his bank has been bought out by the Central Bank of the United Federation of Planets. The uniformed officer, introduced as Mr. Blu, is the new bank manager. “I have been looking through the bank’s records,” Mr. Blu explains, “and I noticed that you are now three months behind in your mortgage payments.”

“It’s been a rough season,” Mal’s mother explains. “We’ll make the payments soon.”

“Normally, I would say that you would,” Blu says. “However, in looking through your history with the bank I noticed that there have been several times in the last three years where you have been late with your payments.” He continues on in this vein for some time, and nothing Mal or his ma can say stops him. Eventually, he gets to the point: the Central Bank of the United Federation of Planets is foreclosing on their ranch. Mal and his mother are homeless.

* * *

 

_Take me where I cannot stand_

Malcolm Reynolds, nineteen years of age, is in prison. Again.

In the two years since the ranch was taken away from them, Mal and his ma have moved to Styx, the town closest to where the ranch was. A family friend was able to give Mrs. Reynolds a job, but Mal has been forced to find whatever day’s work he can. Some days he can get work moving freight down at the port, other days he works as a messenger for area businesses. He works at construction sites when the weather is good, and once he even got a temporary job when a traveling carnival visited the town. Those days that he can’t find work (and they seem to be getting more and more frequent), Mal passes his time at Callahan’s, one of the local taverns, swapping tall tales with the proprietor and razzing any passing Alliance official or troops. Sadly, on more than one occasion said Alliance official has decided Mal’s attitude needs an adjustment and administers one, often in the form of a right hook. Of course, Mal can’t let that pass without retaliation, and as a result is usually thrown in the local jail for at least the night.

He’s not alone in his sentiments; in fact this time it seems half the town is in here with him. Cells are overflowing, and there’s barely room to stand. Mal stays on his cot unless he absolutely has to, wishing he could see the sky again and wondering how the heck his ma will take this latest imprisonment.

* * *

 

_I don’t care_

Malcolm Reynolds, twenty years of age, is in prison. Again.

This time, he’s there for a while. He’d had a bit too much to drink, and on his way home had literally run into Mr. Blu, the bank manager who took the ranch away. “Watch where you’re going!” the Alliance man had stated, pushing Mal off. In his inebriated state, Mal had seen no problem with retaliating with a roundhouse punch that knocked the other man down. Unfortunately, two Alliance troopers had seen all of this. They hauled Mal off to the jail, and he’d woken up the following morning with one hell of a hangover and silently cursing his stupidity. Ma was sick, and if he couldn’t find work to pay for the doctor’s visits—

“Malcolm Reynolds!” Mal sits up on his cot and turns toward the door of the cell. “Malcolm Reynolds!”

“Here!” Mal answers the guard, jumping off the bunk and pushing through the scrum to the door. “What do you want?”

“Sorry to have to tell you this, kid,” the guard says, and damned if he doesn’t actually look it, “but your ma is dead.” 

Suddenly, Mal doesn’t care about his stupidity any more.

* * *

 

_I’m still free_

Mal Reynolds, age twenty-one, is sitting in Callahan’s, nursing a drink and waiting for someone. Ever since his ma’s death two months ago, Mal’s former dislike of the Alliance has turned into a burning hatred. Antagonizing the local Alliance officials has started to wear thin, and with nothing left on Shadow for him anymore Mal is looking for a way to really join the fight.

“Hello, Mal.” Mal turns and notices a familiar face next to him. “I hear you’re looking to join up.”

“That’s right,” Mal tells Ben Tzu. Tzu examines Mal for several long moments before asking him several pointed questions. Mal apparently answers satisfactorily, because before he leaves Tzu gives Mal directions to a meeting place elsewhere in town with instructions to be there two days from now.

Two days later, Mal is standing with nineteen other men and women in front of three officers. “Welcome to the Independent Army,” the oldest officer says.

* * *

 

_You can’t take the sky from me_

Malcolm Reynolds, age twenty-one and four weeks, can’t sleep. He’s staying in a boarding house just outside of town; the whole place is a barracks for the local members of the Independent Army. Mal is convinced that the local Alliance officials must know what this place really is, but they haven’t raided the place yet. And if they did, what’s another stint in prison?

The past three weeks seem like a blur: moving his few belongings to the boarding house, beginning training, and meeting new folks with beliefs like his. He’s been so busy he hasn’t thought of his dear ma more than twice a day. Even so, staying on Shadow, staying with her ghost, is starting to wear on him. Tonight it became too much, and so he snuck out of the house to look at the sky. He remembers how, as a child, he decided that he would find a way to visit them all. Now, it seems that he’ll get the chance, for there are very few Independents permanently stationed on Shadow. _I’m gonna do it, Ma,_ he thinks. _I’m gonna live my dream, and I’m gonna make sure that no one has to listen to the gorram Purple Bellies ever again._


	2. Second Verse

_Take me out_

Malcolm Reynolds, age twenty-one and three months, is on sentry duty. This group exercise is the last test Mal must pass in his training before he is given his first assignment. Even Mal, with no real knowledge of historical wars, thinks that training is way too fast, but the fact remains that the Independents need more troops if they’re to have a hope in Hell of making any progress against the Alliance. Over the last two months, he’s been taught to fight clean, taught to fight dirty, taught to fire more types of guns than he’d ever imagined existed, taught to move quietly through the roughest terrain, taught to survive on next to nothing. But most of all, he’s been taught to fly. All enlisted and officers learn all of these skills, because you just never know. Now, on sentry duty, Mal pays attention to his surroundings, but also sneaks glances at the sky above. So close. He’s so close to his dream.

* * *

 

_To the black_

Malcolm Reynolds, age twenty-one and four months, has ‘graduated’ from basic training. What’s more, he’s been given the rank of Corporal, a testament to his skills. The graduates have been told to wait in their lines; several sergeants and lieutenants are circulating among the group and passing out assignments.

“Corporal Reynolds,” one of them says, stopping in front of him.

“Sir,” Mal replies, snapping to attention.

“You’re going to the 57th Overlanders Brigade. You ship out in twelve hours.”

Mal blinks, a little surprised at the immediacy of the orders, but he knows better than to question them. “Yes sir!” The officer dismisses him, and Mal heads for the boarding house to collect his few belongings. His dream is coming true: in less than half a day, he’ll be on his way to the stars.

* * *

 

_Tell them I ain’t comin’ back_

“So you’re shipping out,” Jake, the bartender at Callahan’s says. Mal has stopped in for one last drink before he burns off.

“Yep,” Mal replies. “Off to see the ‘verse and tell the Alliance what I really think of ‘em.” Jake nods, watching as Mal finishes up. Mal drains the last of his brew and sets the tankard down on the bar. “Take care of yourself, Jake.”

“You too, Mal. You too.”

* * *

 

_Burn the land_

Malcolm Reynolds, twenty-four years of age, is on the move as part of the 57th, affectionately known as the “Balls and Bayonets Brigade”. They are moving towards an Alliance outpost just outside Du-Khang, the largest city on Yangtze. In the years since he left Shadow, he’s been to six worlds. Now he’s in charge of several squadrons and reports to Lieutenant Branch. Mal’s second in command is a woman about his own age: Private Zoe Alleyne. She’s beautiful, but Mal is intimidated by her ease with weaponry, particularly her sidearm.

Finally the officer in charge calls a halt for the night. Mal and his troops make camp and gather around the fire for chow. “Enjoy it while you can, folks,” Mal tells them. “Tomorrow we’ll be too close to the enemy to risk a fire.”

“Hey Corporal,” Matthew “Tiny” Jenkins sings out. “You trained on Shadow, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Tiny pulls forward John Rice, the newest member of the unit. “Tell ‘em, Squeaky.”

The kid pales, but takes a deep breath and speaks. “I heard two Purple Bellies talking at the station when I was on my way to the rendezvous. They…they…” He swallows, takes another deep breath, and continues. “They said that the Browncoat training facility on Shadow was burned to the ground.”

Mal feels his stomach drop out. “What about the officers? The staff?”

Squeaky trembles. “I don’t think anyone survived, sir. From what I overheard, sounds like the gorram Feds torched the place while folks were still in it.”

Mal is too shocked to say anything. He finishes dinner in silence, sets the watch, and then takes a walk. He makes it about twenty paces from camp before becoming violently ill. His stomach empties onto the ground while Mal doubles over in pain. He’s too drained to even jump when he feels a hand on his back. “Here sir,” Zoe’s voice says, passing a rag over his shoulder.

Finally able to stand, Mal nods his thanks as he wipes his mouth with the cloth. _When the world drops out from under you_ , he thinks, _it’s nice to have folks to count on._ Zoe stays with him, offering silent support, until he is strong enough to return to camp.

* * *

 

_Boil the sea_

Malcolm Reynolds, age twenty-four and a half, is sitting in a small tent, wrapped in his blanket, wearing what feels like every scrap of clothing he owns. It is winter in New Kashmir, and the Browncoats and Alliance are at a stalemate. Neither side has the manpower or resources to push the other out, and in some places the trenches are no more than twenty or thirty feet apart, close enough that the opposing forces can yell insults at one another.

It’s been a rough couple of months. After their narrow victory at Du-Khang, the 57th was lifted from Yangtze to New Mumbai to provide reinforcements for the forces already in New Kashmir. That was three weeks ago, a lifetime. Since then, Mal has seen Alliance troops violate the rules of combat, steal from the nearby locals, even use their resources to boil away one town’s reservoir of drinking water. And just two days previously, some Alliance troops, feigning nice manners, had lobbed apples at Mal’s troops. The problem was, those apples had been booby-trapped with griswalds, little pressure-sensitive grenades. Mal lost two men and has another four temporarily or permanently out of action because of that stunt. Every day, it seems, fuel is added to Mal’s hatred of the Alliance.

* * *

 

_You can’t take the sky from me_

Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds, age twenty-five, is tired. While he still firmly believes that the Alliance should be sent packing, the constant pressure of battle is starting to wear on him. The New Kashmir campaign was a draw, although Mal and Zoe were both promoted for their actions on behalf of the Browncoats. Then came the Dawn campaign on Helios, and the Battle of Sturgess. The latter was short, only one week, but extremely bloody, with heavy casualties on both sides. It was so bloody, in fact, that Mal still hasn’t learned which side won.

Now he’s on Hera, part of a Browncoat operation to secure the spaceport at Serenity Valley. Being so close to a large number of ships has reawakened his old dream to fly to the stars. _When this is over_ , Mal promises himself, _I’m gonna buy me a ship. I’m gonna buy a ship and make my living in the black, and no one and nothing is gonna tell me what to do._


	3. Final Verse

_There’s no place I can be_

Malcolm Reynolds, age twenty-six, is a man adrift. Ever since the end of the War, he’s been hopping around the system, taking odd jobs, just trying to get by and save up enough to buy his own ship. Today, finally, he can look at what’s for sale.

Zoe, who has been his near-constant companion since Du-Khang, isn’t with him today because she has a job in town. She’s already agreed to join him out in the black, as his first mate and whatever other post needs filled. They’re not lovers, but are something more like brother and sister. They trust one another completely, even if Zoe thinks Mal can be too childish at times. Mal maintains Zoe just needs to lighten up a little.

Anyway, Mal is being escorted around the shipyard by the proprietor, a fat man who goes by the name Corey. Mal’s already looked at, and rejected, a _Zion-_ class transport, a _Yu_ -class yacht (partly because he can’t stand the name), and several assorted smaller craft. They’ve reached one edge of the lot. Mal spots one ship, and it brings him up short. From behind him, Corey launches into his spiel again. “You buy this ship, treat her proper, she’ll be with you the rest of your life.”

_Oh yeah,_ Mal silently agrees.

“Hey kid, are you listening to me?”

Mal shakes his head and turns to see that Corey has been trying to sell him an ugly yellow thing that looks like it wouldn’t even make upper atmo before falling to bits. “I’d like to see that one,” he tells the proprietor, pointing across the way to where a brown, slightly battered _Firefly_ -class transport is resting on her skids. Corey tries to dissuade him, but Mal pushes. Two hours, lots of paperwork, and more platinum than he cares to think about later, Malcolm Reynolds is the proud owner of a ship.

Later, when he’s showing the _Serenity_ (as he’s decided to call her) off to Zoe, his friend is less than enthused. “Oh come on,” he cajoles, “treat her proper, she’ll be with her the rest of your life.”

“That’s because it’s a death trap,” Zoe replies.

But Mal won’t be put down. He sees what this ship can be, and loves what she represents: freedom.

* * *

 

_Since I found Serenity_

“I thought ‘serenity’ meant ‘peace’,” Mal says to himself. These days, his boat is anything but peaceful.

In the months immediately following his purchase of the Firefly, he and Zoe had built a good crew to join them on _Serenity_. Wash was a pilot worth his weight in plastic dinosaurs, and he had also turned into a pretty decent husband for Zoe. Bester had been a mistake, but if they hadn’t hired him they never would’ve found Kaylee, and she was the best mechanic in the ‘verse. Inara brought a touch of class to the vessel, and, although he’d never admit it to anyone else, light to Mal’s world. Jayne was useful in his own way, even though some days Mal wanted to send him out the airlock.

The point was, the crew had been doing fine. Then Simon and River Tam arrived.

Now Mal is trying to avoid the Alliance cruisers even more than usual while still providing for everyone on board. He has Shepherd Book trying to save him (or so it seems to Mal) at every possible opportunity, and Jayne is constantly whining about how little coin they’ve gotten lately. River has her moments of almost-normal, but anything can cause her to become a jabbering idiot again. Simon, who’s actually not doing half-bad at being ship’s medic, spends all of his free time trying to figure out what’s wrong with his younger sister. Kaylee is mooning after the doctor, who’s apparently oblivious. When she’s not seeing clients, Inara will watch the younger Tam or engage in philosophical discussions with the Shepherd.

Peace is the last thing to be found on _Serenity_ right now. Truthfully, though, Mal isn’t sure he’d have it any other way.

* * *

 

_You can’t take the sky from me_

It’s been two months since Miranda. Two months since Mal’s personal ‘verse was turned upside down. Wash is gone, and Zoe is still grieving. Mal does what he can, but he knows it’s not enough. Ironically, Jayne has been some comfort, drinking with Zoe and reminiscing about Wash’s hoop-ball skills.

Inara has come back, and Mal is glad. They’ve finally stopped dancing around their feelings for one another, and are trying to make a go of it as a couple. Inara is ill, so they don’t know how much time they’ll have, but out in the black a moment can be an eternity.

Speaking of relationships, Simon and Kaylee are engaged. Mal is glad that little Kaylee is so happy, and the doc’s not nearly as stuck up as he was when he arrived on board. He’s still working to put his sister back together, but there’s not so much urgency about it now. Since Miranda, River has improved by leaps and bounds. She still occasionally utters what seems like nonsense, but everyone on board has learned to look past the words to the meaning underneath. Out in the black, she’s become quite the pilot.

Yes, the black and _Serenity_ have become more home than a ranch on Shadow ever was. Mal will always miss his folks, but his family now is more than he could have ever hoped for. As long as they can still fly, they’ll always be together.


End file.
